


PORTRAIT

by comicsandtea



Category: IT, IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, F/M, IT (movie), IT - Freeform, Stephen King - Freeform, stephen king IT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 02:12:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15451119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comicsandtea/pseuds/comicsandtea
Summary: You have been Patrick Hockstetter's girlfriend for years, so how are you meant to take it when you hear that he's betrayed you?





	PORTRAIT

The idea of art being a therapeutic outlet was not an idea. Whether or not artists wanted to admit that creating a piece of art was a way of self-reflection or therapy was in of itself its own debate. You would not be quick to admit to your peers that you used your creative abilities as an outlet that was far cheaper than therapy – you would, however, admit that it was a way for you to wind down at the end of the day which most people could understand and even took well. Understandably to almost everyone who went to your school, you never even mentioned the latter to the Bowers Gang. Doing so would only lead to far too much torment – which you did not need in the first place. Your boyfriend, Patrick Hockstetter, didn’t even know of this fact, not because you didn’t wish to tell him but more to the fact that you knew for a fact he would tell the rest of the Gang, and that he had never bothered to ask you at any point in time why you, in fact, do it. So it was never a concern you brought up.

 

Patrick did not seem to mind that you were into the creative arts, this was especially since when you wanted to sketch, more than often, you would ask him to model for you. Of course, someone with a God complex would only be more than happy to be the subject of such things. You remember late nights of him coming over through your window hoping for an _intimate_ time only for it to end with him sitting on a chair across from you, while you would sit on your bed and sketch his features, trying to emulate the light of the lamp and how it sat on his face. While he would never fully say it to you, but he found those moments of you staring at him almost sternly as you tried to get down every detail of his face onto the page far more intimate than when the two of you had sex. The idea of you searching his entire _being_ for imperfections and details that _he_ probably didn’t even know about made him feel vulnerable in a way. Even if you weren’t real, it scared him how you managed to try and find every single bit of his realness. How could his mind create such a creature?

 

In your room you had many painting and sketches, many of them were, in fact, Patrick for the sole reason that no one else really could stand the idea of sitting or staying in a single position for more than an hour. The portraits that you were most proud of you had hung up on your wall, it varied from paintings and detailed sketches of Patrick to scenery spots in Derry that you managed to capture in the cooler months when you wouldn’t be berated in getting a sunburn and spend a week recovering and withering in pain.

 

When it came to dating Patrick, it, of course, involved you hanging around with the Bowers Gang, even if it disgusted you down to your core. The only other member you could seem to stand was Vic, but even then you would rather not be around any of them. You were dating Patrick. Not the entire Gang. Of course they would suggest things such as you sketching a group portrait of them all together, you were lucky enough that they didn’t like the idea of staying still, however, Patrick - who would usually have _no troubles_ in sitting down or staying still for so long - would act out and act as though he found the whole situation lame and make fun of you. While you knew it was because he was trying to come off as “cool” to his friends it did annoy you. More often than not you would end up locking your window for the next few nights, or when he did come through you would refuse to do anything and threaten to call the police.

All in all, though, you liked having Patrick as your boyfriend. He made you feel safe and never failed to make you laugh. While you didn’t agree with everything he did, thinks, or says, that was not a deal breaker for you. You knew you didn’t have to have your partner be one hundred percent like you in order for a relationship to work. Differences matter. Patrick had never done anything to make you feel as though you weren’t good enough; contrastingly, he made you feel as though you were the most important person in the world. Even if you didn’t like the ego, you loved that he made you feel so special. He made you feel as though you were the only one who was right for him, and he opened up to you more than he had anyone else (much to your surprise).

 

During your relationship, Patrick had even tried writing love letters to you, while he was not the best in the area of literacy, you treasured these and kept them in a shoe box in your room amongst other things he had given you over the years like rocks he thought were cook, feathers, and old knives that he had since upgraded from. You always smiled at the thought of his first attempt at a love letter.

 

_(Your name)_

_Your really speaciel to me, I know that I'm a dick when I'm infront of the guys but I know they’ll be stupid and be dicks about it. And I don’t want them to start trying to flirt with you and I don’t want to share you. I want you all to myself. It doesn’t have to be there bussiness what we do its us against the world. You and me._

_Yours_

_Trick_

Even with the spelling mistakes, you could never help but feel warm inside when you read them, he _tried_. He tried to write you a love letter and did his best. What more could you ask for? You could have someone who wrote the best poetry in the country, and they could write you a new poem every day with little to no effort, and that’s exactly what it was. It would be no effort to write you something from them compared to Patrick, he gave it his all in every letter he wrote you, and that meant more to you than anything anyone else could do.

 

Which is why when your best friend in school told you that Patrick Hockstetter had cheated told you on you, that you were in complete shock. How could this have happened? How could someone who dedicated so much of his time and effort into you suddenly cheat on you? How could he do such a thing to you? You were fuming; you couldn’t bear to hear it. He only confirmed it when you stormed over to the Bowers spot on the grass outside of school to confront him, immediately trying to tell you to calm down and listen to him and that it was all a mistake.

“A _mistake?_ You mean like how it was a mistake to ever date your dumb ass?” You instantly snapped back at him.

“Babe, please just listen, it was an accident and I didn’t intend-”

“How the FUCK do you ‘accidently’ have sex with someone Patrick?! How do you accidentally stick your dick into a girl that isn’t me? Why the fuck would you do this to me!?” you hit him with your folder and he instantly turned and put his arms up in defense to block you from hitting his chest.

“Babe, you don’t understand-”

“Don’t _babe_ me! What is there to understand? You had sex with another girl who isn’t me, fuck me Patrick are you really that fucking stupid? – Don’t touch me! – I’m going home and I never want to see you near me again, or I swear to God this time I will call the police.”

 

It was that incident that led you to sit in front of the fire pit in your backyard. You had set it up the night before because your parents were away for a holiday; you and Patrick had planned on having a bonfire and camping out on your lawn with some food for the weekend. But instead you sat on the ground with the portraits of Patrick that you had pulled down from your bedroom walls, along with your sketchbooks, and the shoebox you kept under your bed.

 

You had spent the last hour, glaring at the fire, you had tried to hold back the tears that were welling in your eyes by blinking them away only for them to fall. The fire was stocked up and you could feel the heat burn your cheeks, but you couldn’t find the energy to care. You sniffed before picking up the first portrait, you had been working on colour theory for this, and made your main colours: cream, warm yellow, red, and black, the portrait had Patrick sitting on your bed looking at something off the canvas – it was your posters if you remembered correctly – the end effect was that it looked as though he was sitting in the dark with only one source of light, you had been really proud of it. Had been. Without hesitation, you threw it into the fire. You watched the image become engulfed by flamed, eating at it like some alien-like creature, draining it of its soul.

 

You hadn’t heard the footsteps coming from behind you when you picked up the second portrait, throwing it into the fire, watching as the fire died down only to grow even taller.

 

“(Your name)”

 

You jumped when you heard his voice. You didn’t expect him to come over, then again, he probably knew that you wouldn’t actually call the police. That would give him some kind of confidence.

 

“Haven’t you hurt me enough?” was all that you were able to get out before you threw another portrait in the fire.

 

“That was never my intention.”

 

You laughed. You couldn’t truly understand why, you felt nothing but pure hate and disgust towards him in that moment, but you were emotionally exhausted. All you could do and manage was to laugh. He didn’t want to hurt you? But he had sex with another woman. How was that not supposed to hurt?

 

“Yes, and it’s not my intention to destroy months of work.” You shot back.

“(Your name), if you would listen to me you would-”

“I would what, Hockstetter? I would forgive you? I would suddenly embrace you in my arms and act as though this never happened? Jesus fuck I know you think you created this whole fucking world but did you really think it be that fucking stupid?”

“No because you’re not stupid,” he retorted, “You're smarter than me at a lot of things, everything, but I want you to hear my side.”

You were silent for a moment.

“I wrote you a letter, and I would like you to read it.”

You rolled your eyes before turning around to face him, his eyes were red and bloodshot, had he been crying? In his trembling hand, he held a folded piece of paper. You hesitantly took it, only just able to read the scribble with the light of the fire.

 

_(Your name)_

_I'm not good with words and I don’t know how to tell you this but I promise that I didn’t want this to happen. You need to know that this was a misstake and I didn’t want to do it. Not to you. I love you to much to do that to you. I was really drunk and I kept saying I didn’t want to but she kept saying that if I didn’t she would tell the school I did and hurt you. I was drunk nothing made sense. Please please please listen to me_

_Yours and only yours_

_Always_

_Trick_

You did your best to ignore his grammatical and spelling mistake, silently correcting them in your head before you looked up at a scared Patrick.

 

“It was Liana Douglass who had sex with was it not?” you continued when he nodded, “I know her, she would never do something like this. She’s a good person who has stood by my side whenever you’ve made me cry Patrick, so riddle me this, Hockstetter, why would she do that?”

 

Before he could give you an answer to your question, you ripped his letter up and threw it into the fire, “I’m not stupid. Don’t even try to trick me with your bullshit.”

 

“(Your name) it’s not bullshit!” he snapped at you, “Why won’t you just believe me?!”

 

“Maybe because you're known for this shit. My friends warned me for years that you would pull this shit and I ignored them and actually had _faith_ in you. I wish I listened to them sooner. Now get the fuck off my property. I don’t want to see you near me again.

 

“(Your name)-”

 

“Don’t you know how to listen? Leave me alone, get out!” you yelled at him, tears falling from your eyes, “I never want to see you again.”

 

There was a short pause, silence from the both of you, the only down that could be heard was the crackling of the fire, and your heavy breathing from trying to hold back your sobs. After a minute, he simply just nodded and took a step back before leaving your yard, jumping over the fence onto the next property.

 

You sat down on the grass alone, staring straight into the fire, only breaking from it when you ripped sketches from him out of your sketchbooks to fuel the fire. Once you had reached the shoebox you lifted the lid and looked at everything inside, you sifted through all the bits and bobs inside when you saw a letter at the bottom that you have folded. You unfolded it and smoothed out the creases on your lap before reading it.

 

_Dear (your name),_

 

_I heard this during class and it made me think of you,_

_“I love you more than words can wield the matter, Dearer than eyesight, space and liberty”_

_I don’t really understand what it means but this is what I feel for you._

_Yours,_

_Trick_

_P.S. I’m trying to fix my spelling_

You sighed before putting it back in the box and hugging it tightly to your chest, as you watched the fire burn.

 

“What have you done, Trick.”


End file.
